Path of Freedom (12 page)

“Yes.” Flora lifted a hand over her eyes as she gazed down the street. “Although I don't remember some of these buildings. That must be a new tavern.” She pointed to a brown building on the left where a woman swept the front steps. They rolled along, avoiding mud puddles in the street and dodging traffic.

They came to a gray house at a dead end. A red barn sat on a hill behind the house. As they drew closer, they could see a white cat with brown spots stretched on top of the porch, observing their arrival. A couple of round bushes were planted out front with a few flowers that had died with the frost.

“This is it.” Excitement resonated in Flora's voice. “They live on a farm at the edge of town.”

Bruce pulled around back so no one would see Marta and Jim. By the time they rolled to a stop near the back porch, Bruce realized the house was much larger than it looked from the front. Several rooms had been added to the original portion in back, lengthening the house into a
T
shape.

A blond-haired woman wearing a wide smile appeared on the porch. Bruce glanced from Irene to the older woman and recognized the resemblance.

“Aunt Abigail!” Irene bounced from the wagon, running with open arms to hug her.

A middle-aged man with gray hair approached from the barn. Two young men accompanied him; one looked to be near Bruce's age and the other a few years older. The brown-haired one whistled as he looked down at Irene and held out his arms. “Cousin, thee has grown up since I last saw thee.”

“Of course I have. And Daniel, thee has grown taller.” Irene walked into his embrace as he rubbed her head, knocking her bonnet slightly askew. She grimaced and gave him a playful pat on the arm.

Bruce leaped to the ground and walked to the back of the wagon to help Flora with Marta and Jim. As always, dependable Flora was the one who was taking care of others, while Irene pretended to be on a social visit.

“Flora, it's so good to see thee. I've been coming by every day hoping thee will arrive.” Bruce turned toward the speaker, a young man with short black hair combed to the side. A few layers fell on his forehead from beneath his hat. The man had a square face and fashionable sideburns, but it was his gray eyes feeding on Flora that made Bruce tense.

“Clint, I'm so glad thee is here.” Flora slipped an arm beneath Marta's shoulders, trying to help her sit up. Her strained features relaxed into a bright smile. “Marta had her baby a few days ago, but he didn't survive. She's weak, and I worry she may be hemorrhaging.”

“I'll do what I can.” Clint's gaze shifted to Marta, his expression turning serious. “First, let's get her into the house and in a comfortable position.” He crawled inside.

Bruce stood outside, his hands empty and his heart full of worry. Flora and Clint worked together seamlessly as they shifted Marta into Clint's arms. He carried her out with Flora following, her attention fully focused on Marta.

Bruce stood still, his muscles taut like a pulley rope with a knot as he watched them disappear into the house. A knock from below the wagon bed jerked Bruce out of his stupor.

“Don't forget ‘bout me!” Jim's muffled voice carried through the hidden compartment.

The house was quiet as Flora walked down Aunt Abigail's hallway. She stepped softly to keep her boots from waking the others. It was so good to see everyone again. While Bruce, Jim, and Marta had retired to catch up on some sleep, she and Irene spent an hour reconnecting with their cousins.

Exhaustion finally overcame them. With a yawn, Flora and her sister retired to their shared guest chamber. She slept for a few hours, then arose and left Irene slumbering.

Low voices carried from the back kitchen out onto the wraparound porch. Flora followed the sounds to a plain white door. She turned the dark brass knob. It clicked and swung open with a slight creak.

“Flora, I'm surprised thee is awake,” Aunt Abigail said as she rocked back and forth in her wooden rocker. “Thee could hardly keep thy eyes open early this morning.”

“I know, but a few hours' rest did me a world of good.” Flora stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind her with a snap. She glanced from her aunt to her cousin, Belinda. Over the last two years, Belinda hadn't changed much. Her green eyes and blond locks beneath her white bonnet were still the same. The only difference was the fact that Belinda was plumper than she remembered.

Clint stood from where he had been sitting on the front step. He gestured to his spot and leaned against the white porch rail. Flora awarded him with a grateful smile and lowered herself onto the top step, fanning her gray skirt over her legs and feet. Only the toes of her worn black boots protruded.

“Thanks,” Flora said, a warm blush heating her cheeks. Thoughts of the bold letters she'd shared with Doctor Clint flitted through her mind like a list of chastisements. At the time, her bold letters seemed appropriate, but now that she was once again in his presence, a strange awkwardness existed between them—a gulf she hadn't expected. To ease her discomfort, Flora turned to her aunt. “Where's Uncle Jeremiah and Daniel?”

“They're out in the fields back behind the barn. We harvested the corn a few weeks ago, but we still need to reap the carrots and cabbage now that we're at the end of the tenth month.” Aunt Abigail pointed into the distance toward the red barn.

“Yes, I'll be helping with those crops when the time comes, aside from tending my patients,” Clint said. “I haven't set up a practice around here, but as soon as the word got out that I got my doctorate, plenty of folks have been coming by with various illnesses and injuries.”

“Why not go ahead and set up a practice?” Flora asked, glancing up at him, as the door opened and out stepped Bruce. He nodded in greeting to Clint and the others.

“I haven't decided if I want to settle down here. It all depends on…other factors.” Clint gave Flora a direct stare, his eyes seizing hers. She gulped, wondering if he referred to the letter he'd sent her regarding a courtship between them. Surely he couldn't mean marriage—they hadn't even begun a courtship as yet.

Bruce cleared his throat as he walked to the other side of the steps, where Flora sat leaning against the opposite rail. He glanced down at her. She sensed him seeking her expression to gauge her reaction. Heat flamed her skin in a race to the top of her head. Dropping her gaze to her hands, which were folded in her lap, she said, “I'm certain thee will be an excellent doctor wherever thee goes.”

“I was thinking about going south—to North Carolina.”

Flora could hear the smile in Clint's voice. She didn't want to embarrass him in front of everyone, but she needed time to assess her feelings. Ever since she'd received his letter, she'd considered how beneficial a doctor husband would be for her desire to be a midwife. Their professions could complement each other. She wasn't a beauty and had no other outstanding qualities. Wouldn't she be wise to consider his offer of courtship? How else would she know if they were suited? No one from back home had shown much interest. She wasn't getting any younger. Shouldn't she at least see where this opportunity would lead?

She forced a smile and looked up into Clint's hopeful gray eyes. “Then I'm sure that North Carolina would be pleased to welcome thee. There are many places that could use a new doctor such as thee.” She chose words that didn't personally implicate her own feelings on the matter, but the sparkle in his eyes left her wondering if she had succeeded in being neutral.

“I realize thee will be leaving soon to finish thy mission, but I hope we'll be able to talk more about North Carolina when thee returns,” Clint said.

“I'm not an expert on my home state, nor have I had the opportunity to visit far beyond Greensboro, but I'd be pleased to offer what knowledge I have.”

Aunt Abigail stopped rocking and leaned forward with a satisfied grin. “I told Clint thee would be the best person to advise him.” She clapped her hands together in a single slap. “I told him about New Garden Quaker school in Greensboro. For a steady income, he might want to teach while he builds his practice.”

“What about the University of Virginia here in Charlottesville?” Flora asked. “It looks so impressive.”

“It isn't Quaker,” Aunt Abigail said, rocking again.

“I see.” Flora scanned Clint's reaction, but he showed none. “I want to thank thee for examining Marta and trying to make me feel better about not saving her baby. The encouragement from a professional means a great deal to me.”

“I told thee it wasn't thy fault. I've never seen anyone work harder than thee.” Bruce's soft voice penetrated her soul like a healing balm. For so many years she had longed for his approval and now that he validated her efforts, she sought the approval of someone else. Confusion clouded her mind as his green gaze met hers. “It doesn't take a professional doctor to see the sincerity of someone's heart.”

The slight chastisement stung, but rang true. Nor did she need the approval of any man. Why couldn't she be content with God's blessing? In the end, God would be the one she would have to stand before and give an account of all she'd done with her life, not either of these men.

Lord, forgive me
, Flora whispered from her heart.

“Friends Bruce and Clint, I thank thee for thy words of wisdom,” she said.

Hurt flickered in Bruce's eyes, and he looked toward the barn. She sensed it was because she'd referred to him in the same way as Clint, on a less intimate level. Her intention was to let Clint know that she hadn't yet decided upon a courtship. Perhaps she could later explain things to Bruce when they were alone.

“Did thee have Clint look at thy leg wound?” A hard edge had now entered Bruce's tone. “It might be best to have a professional take out the stitches in case I didn't do it justice.” Bruce stepped from the rail where he'd been leaning and stood to his full height. He looked at Clint. “The wound is on the side of her right knee. She busted the stitches and tried to hide it. I caught her trying to restitch herself, so I really would like to know if there's any infection.” His voice turned gruff as he cleared his throat. “I wouldn't want anything to happen to her. It's best if it's checked before we continue on our mission.”

A mixture of anger and surprise swirled in Flora's chest as he stepped down, passing by her.

“Bruce.” She grabbed at his arm, not caring what the others thought.

“I think I'll go for a walk and enjoy the beautiful day God has made.” He pulled away from her and breathed in deeply, releasing a satisfied sigh.

She didn't want Clint examining her leg. In spite of what Bruce thought, she'd planned to ask him to remove her stitches. It wasn't that she distrusted Clint, but she felt more comfortable with Bruce—and he'd already seen her legs.

Flora wanted to run after him, but forced herself to remain seated for appearance's sake. She gulped and turned a halfhearted grin filled with guilt toward the others. How could she relieve their concern without giving in to Clint's doctoring her?

F
or the next two days, Bruce suffered through Clint Robert's attentions toward Flora. To his profound irritation, Flora didn't discourage the fellow. As he watched her smile up at him on their walks around the farm and observed their exchanged glances across the table during meal times, jealousy pinched his ego in a way he'd never experienced before.

Now as Bruce harnessed the horse and prepared to hitch the animal to the wagon, Flora stood alone with Clint. They talked under an oak tree, saying their good-byes. Fear spiraled through Bruce's stomach as worry pierced his soul.

“Lord, please don't let me lose her,” he whispered as he bent, rubbing his faithful horse. “I know I don't deserve her. I was never good to her growing up. She made me nervous, and as a kid I didn't know how to react when she provoked me.” He paused, adjusting his black hat on his head. “Things are different now. My feelings are so much deeper, to the point of feeling desperate. This jealousy isn't like me. Help me not to push her away.”

He took a deep breath when Clint tilted his head toward Flora. Bruce's stomach clenched as nausea claimed him. The sick feeling rose up in his chest, closing off his air. He coughed.

The noise startled Flora. She turned and frowned with guilt, the same way she had once done when he'd caught her sneaking his grapes from his lunch at school. Clint's mouth twisted in frustration. Momentary satisfaction pooled in the pit of Bruce's gut. He didn't think he could have stomached seeing them kiss if that was about to happen.

He grinned and waved at them as he rubbed his throat, hoping Flora wouldn't be annoyed by the interruption. She gave him a half-hearted smile and bent her fingers, waving back.

They said their good-byes. This time Flora crawled up onto the wagon seat without the awkwardness she'd exhibited earlier. She settled between him and Irene.

“Did Clint remove thy stitches?” Bruce raised an eyebrow, watching her smooth her skirt and cloak over her lap.

“He did. I had hoped to ask thee to do it once we were on our way, since thee had already been exposed to my legs, but thee seemed eager to rid thyself of the unpleasant task.” She sighed and looked away. “Sometimes I don't understand thee, Bruce.”

He blinked, gripping the reins until his knuckles turned white. What had she expected? The wound needed to be checked for infection, and she had refused to cooperate with him after he'd restitched her. The last thing he'd wanted was Clint's hands upon her. If she had planned to ask him to remove her stitches, why not let him check her for infection? He snapped the reins in anger. “And sometimes I don't understand thee.”

“Clint said that thee did an excellent job on my stitches. He assured me that he couldn't have done better. I'd have a lingering scar no matter who had stitched me.”

“I'm sorry about the scar. Wish I could have prevented it,” Bruce said, wondering if the scar had been the reason for her hesitation. He looked away, toward the lantern hanging on the side of their wagon. “Believe me, if I'd known that thee wanted me to remove thy stitches, I would have never said anything to Clint. I thought it was high time the wound was checked and feared thee wouldn't let me look at it since the good doctor was in town,” he said, his voice lowered to a grumble.

“Bruce,” Irene laughed, “thee almost sounds jealous. Doesn't he, Flora?” She elbowed her sister, nudging Flora into Bruce's side.

“Don't let him fool thee, Irene. Friend Bruce has never harbored anything for me but anger and frustration, although lately, I'm beginning to believe we've finally developed a real friendship.” She laid a hand on his arm.

It felt like the air had been punched out of him as he covered hers. “Indeed we have. I care a great deal about thee, Flora. I always have, in spite of what thee believes.”

“Which is why I told Clint that thee didn't interrupt us on purpose.” She squeezed his arm with emphasis. “He believes thee is jealous, but I told him thee has known me thy whole life and is being overprotective, like a big brother.”

“Thee does spend too much time alone with him,” Bruce mumbled. He clenched his teeth, wishing he could say what he wanted to say without sounding jealous or making it seem as if he was being critical.

“We went nowhere that was improper.” She removed her hand from his arm and folded them under her cloak. “We were always within view of someone, mostly thee.” She emphasized the last word.

Not wishing to argue, Bruce dropped the subject, certain anything he said on the matter would serve only to infuriate her further. They traveled through the night; the horse's labored breathing grew heavier as they climbed into the hills toward the mountains.

Irene fell asleep on Flora, and eventually Flora's head fell against Bruce's shoulder. He reached his arm around her, holding her close against his side. His throat ached. This was where she belonged. A chill slid up his spine. How could he make her see reason? Whatever he did, he had only a few weeks to convince her to change her mind about Clint Roberts.

Flora placed an arm around Irene's shaking shoulders and tried to comfort her as the bobcat continued screaming in the distance. The fire put out a bit of heat, but the higher elevation meant colder weather. Across from them, Jim comforted Marta as they waited for Bruce to return.

Cold fear clutched Flora's heart as she worried for his safety. He had gone hunting, claiming that it was high time they had some meat and that Marta needed the nourishment as she continued to recover. It had been three days since they'd left her aunt's house. Their water was frozen each morning and they had to melt it by the fire before they could boil water and make coffee.

The sound of gunfire caused her to jerk. Irene whimpered. “What if he misses the cat? Couldn't it kill Bruce?”

“Don't think like that.” Flora rubbed her sister's arm. It was bad enough that a similar thought had struck her.

“I'm could go after him,” Jim offered. “I fought a black bear once.”

“No, Jim.” Flora shook her head. If Bruce was all right, he would yell at her for putting Jim in danger. She swallowed, listening for more noise. Several minutes passed before they heard another gunshot. It echoed through the forest, plowing at her already taut nerves.

“We should pray,” Marta whispered. “Lord, please protect Mister Bruce. Keep him safe. Bring him back unharmed. We know you have all the power, in Jesus' name, amen.”

Flora gazed at Marta, the fire casting a brilliant glow on her dark skin and hazel eyes. There were times when she seemed well beyond her years. The way she had grieved for her son and turned to the Lord for comfort had earned Flora's respect. This girl was only fifteen, and yet she had proven to be so full of wisdom—and strength. Flora marveled at her ability to overcome such heartache without letting bitterness take root or giving in to the temptation to blame God.

“I should have suggested praying,” Flora said, looking into the dancing flames.

“Yous can't think of everything,” Marta said.

The bobcat squealed again. Flora closed her eyes. Bruce hadn't killed the animal. They waited, but no further gunshots sounded. What if there were more than one bobcat? Why hadn't she thought of that before? Bruce was all alone. How could he manage more than one?

She shivered.

“What's wrong?” Irene glanced sideways.

“How much time has passed since the last gunshot?” Flora asked.

“I don't know. Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes.” Irene sat back. “What is thee thinking?”

Bruce's voice came to mind when she'd first discovered his trunk of weapons. “I wouldn't fight for myself, but to protect thee, I would.” How could she be willing to do anything less for him? An instinctive resolve swelled in her chest as she lifted her chin in determination.

“Bruce is alone. If he's injured, someone must help him.” Flora stood up from the log and went to the wagon. She searched for Bruce's trunk with the weapons.

“Flora, no. Thee can't do this. He'll come back. Wait and see.” Irene followed her. “It's too dangerous.”

“She's right. I'm going,” Jim said at the door flap.

“No. Jim, thee must stay here and protect Marta and Irene.” She turned and threw a rifle into his hands. “Does thee know how to use this?”

“Naw.” He shook his head. “My master never allowed us around guns afore.” He turned it over, examining it closely, wrinkling his eyebrows.

“I'll show thee.” Flora grabbed a small handgun. She pulled back the chamber and loaded it, then set the safety lock. Grabbing another oil lamp, she pulled her arm free from Irene. “My dad showed me this for protection against wild animals such as this bobcat. We have lots of them at home.”

“Thee can't do this!” Irene said.

“I have to. I won't leave Bruce out there alone. I could never forgive myself if anything were to happen to him while we sit around this camp fire waiting.” Flora grabbed Irene's shoulder. “I realize this is hard for thee, but I need thee to be strong. Dry thy tears and stay here with Marta and Jim.”

“I'm sorry.” Irene sniffed and wiped her cheeks. “I'm not as brave as thee. I love thee.” Irene hugged her. Flora swallowed hard and embraced her sister.

Outside the wagon, Flora showed Jim how to load the rifle, the safety lock, and how to hold the gun, aim, and pull the trigger. “Jim, don't be afraid. Use this to save thyselves. There may be a family of bobcats out there nearby.” Flora touched his arm. “Remember, when thee shoots, the rifle will kick back into thy shoulder. Just make sure thee sees thy target so thee won't mistake the cat for Bruce and I.”

“I'll do my best, Miz Flora.” He nodded. “Yous be safe.” He patted her shoulder.

“I will.” Flora lit her lamp, took her gun in hand, and set out in the direction of Bruce's last gunshot.

“I'll pray for yous, Miz Flora,” Marta called after her.

Flora didn't respond as she stepped into the black night. The gun in her hand was cold. Fear coiled in her stomach, reaching up and clutching the back of her throat.

“Lord, please protect us, and lead me to Bruce. If he's hurt, show me what to do.” The whispered prayer blew smoke in the lantern light. She trembled from a combination of cold and consuming fear as she crept forward into the unknown.

A howling wind swept the tree branches, swaying them around her. She listened, hoping for some sign that Bruce was alive and fine. The lamp only gave enough light for a few feet ahead of her. She had to watch her footing as she came to a fallen branch and stepped over it with care. Her skirt caught on something. Holding the gun away from her body, she reached down with the same hand and tugged her skirt loose.

Just as it gave way, a nearby sound caught her attention. Flora's heart hammered against her ribs as her breath left her in icy fear, freezing her voice to silence. She lifted the lantern, peering through the night.

“Flora! Woman, what is thee doing out here?” Bruce demanded a short distance away.

“I…I was worried for thee.” Relief filled her, and she nearly collapsed in a puddle.

More grumbling followed that she couldn't decipher until he had reached her side. “Worried for me?” He rubbed his face as he looked down. “Thee will be the death of me before it's over.”

“Don't say that.” Anguish released in her voice. “I couldn't stand the thought of thee being out here all alone and wounded, if that bobcat got to thee.”

“Shush.” He placed a cold finger her over mouth. “Let's not draw attention to the cat. I left her a prize back there so she'll leave us in peace.” His knuckles brushed her chin. “Did thee really worry for me?”

“Yes, but now I'm wondering if I should have bothered.” No point in hiding her exasperation. Bruce vexed her when he wasn't busy confusing her.

“I'm thankful for thy concern, but extremely angered that thee would put thyself at risk.” He leaned toward her ear, his warm breath fanning her neck. It was enough to make her shiver as a strange warmth pooled in the pit of her stomach. “How would thee have helped me?”

“I brought this for protection.” She held up the gun. “I would have figured out something.”

“Thee brought a gun?” Alarmed surprise changed his tone. He leaned his forehead against hers. “Flora, thy courage and instinct never cease to amaze me. Thy future husband will have his hands quite full. I've no doubt of that.” He held out his hand. “Give me the gun.”

Trying to interpret his words, she hesitated. “Thee sounds as if thee feels sorry for my intended.”

“Hand it over…now, Flora.”

With a sigh, she plopped it into his hand. “Judge me if thee will, but I had good intentions—even if they were for thee.”

“Intended? Is thee engaged to that man?” He raised his voice, his tone harsher than she expected. Whatever happened to not attracting the bobcat's attention?